A matter of trust
by comun
Summary: It could hardly be called "falling in love". It was passion and need. They couldn't control it even though they knew it would hurt their loved ones. Bella is a young girl who've been with Jacob for the past seven years. Edward talks about marriage with his girlfriend. So why are they breaking all their promises?


All Stephenie Meyer.

**Prologue**

I was riding the elevator but I felt like I was already standing on the door. My mind was going miles a minute trying not to think about what I should be doing. That is, turn on my heels and leave. But I kept going up, always going up. Today, more than ever, I felt like a criminal. A real cheater. But I couldn't find it in me to care. My only thoughts being what I would do when the door opened. Should I act normally, blasé? Should I jump in his arms like a long lost love returning home? But maybe, just maybe, I should walk in that room like I was there with an egotistical purpose like I knew he was.

I've never been in a Motel where the rooms are in a regular corridor, all the doors next to each other with no privacy. I get out of the elevator with the fear of facing someone. But it doesn't happen. I guess there aren't so many people in this place in a workday. Or maybe there is a lot of people in the same situation as ours. Coming here just after work so lying is easy. "I had to work late today again, honey." I can say this so easily now, very naturally. I've done it a few times always with the same excuse.

It is pathetic that I'm nervous of facing him after spending the whole day working with ten feet distance of the guy. But I am. God, I really am. It is especially more pathetic since, like I've said before, we've done it a few times. But never here. Never in a place so indiscreet, so for this purpose only. In his house is easy to pretend that we are a regular couple or friends with a modern habit. Unfortunately, his girlfriend is back in town so from now on, we will have to meet in places like this. What I mean is, we will meet again in a place like this a couple of times more and then we're done, of course. It's not like I can keep this up much longer.

I knock on the door but I wish I had a key or something. I feel like delivering myself. When he opens the door, he is still fully dressed like he was half hour ago at the office. He simply give me a chaste kiss on the lips apologizing for eating and saying that he needs to brush his teeth. I've never understood why he seems so nervous every time we see each other, considering that we are usually in his comfort zone, his house and his grounds. I look at my surrounds and the place is huge, with an enormous Jacuzzi in the middle of the room. The toilet has a glass door and I start freaking out with the idea that I won't be able to pee for the next four hours.

I seat on the bed while he brushes his teeth with a generic toothbrush that is sell along with the beverages and condoms. And I feel a little bit calmer now, even though there are mirrors in every wall around the bed. He is talking and so I am, but random subjects about people we know. When he finally comes closer to me he starts asking questions to see if I'm comfortable here, which I am not. He says that is better for me to take my clothes off myself so I won't arrive home completely wrinkled. We both undress ourselves like we were just changing and there is no one else around. Everything is being way more bureaucratic than our regular pattern, until there is no more space between us.

Suddenly I am lying on my back, my hair a mess on the bed and he is hovering me. I will live a thousand years and won't be able to understand how I can be so hormonal around him. Everything is always so raw with us and no reason is allowed while he is touching me. The sensations are overwhelming and I can feel him all around me. After spending the whole day being able to smell him, hear him but without touching him, having him available like this is relaxing. That seconds that he is here, so close I'm breathing his air but he is not close enough for me to kiss him, becoming a whole new kind of torture. While he is hovering me, I keep waiting and it always makes me so breathlessly that I feel like suffocating with the need of him. The only sound is my heart almost beating out of my chest. The only smell is his, so strong that it makes me light headed and confused. His hands making patterns on my arms, so lightly it makes me wonder if I'm imagining it. Still, even if I can't even move while he is holding me in place and all around me, it's not enough. So, even though I tried to keep still, not to be the one to actually bring him to me, I'm never able to. The desperation is so unbearable that I end up forcing him down, ending the seconds of torture.

When he is finally where I wanted him to be, you would think it would be enough. But it never is. Even when he is inside of me and I can taste him all the while, I want more. I claw on him, holding his shoulders like it's my lifeline. I feel his hands going from my shoulders to my back, taking me off the bed while still over me. I know that he is holding me too tight, his fingers forcing their way through my skin. It will probable bruise and I should stop him. I can't arrive home bruised but I don't care. If he is feeling half of the need I'm feeling, then I want him to try to get me closer the way he want to. I can hear his labored breaths while I try to control mine. At some point I feel him changing the pace as if to make it all last. And in that moment I move.

When I'm over him, I feel a little better, calmer. His weight makes me feel claustrophobic. Me being on top is also good because it makes it possible for me to watch him. I become the one drawing patterns on his chest, trying to memorize his details. I never know if I'm coming back to him so I take the most I can. I start ignoring the pulsing in my belly only to pay attention to him. His hands are on my hips trying to set the pace, but I don't let him. I don't want it to end so I do everything against his will. I try not to bend and kiss him, intending not to be so intimate. I keep my eyes open and plead with my body to stop enjoying everything so much and focus only on the man underneath me. I plead mostly with my mind not to erase the image of him, the way he closes his eyes automatically when I descend on him slowly.

The only problem is that you can try as much as you can, you won't be able to make it last forever. It doesn't matter how many positions you try, or how many times you make a joke about the old lady at work as mood breaker. The heat will grow in an uncontrollable way. The way it burns makes you believe you're safe. All the while, when there's only heat enveloping you, it feels like you arrived but only God knows where. My body craves the fire even though my mind fear the way everything fade when I'm bursting. I do burst, enjoying every second of it, always letting him know that I do. Because he does too.

Unfortunately, the fire ends and the defying silence afterwards it's a punch in my figurative guts. When my mind it's not at all blank anymore while my body's still full of him, I feel out of place. The moment when my smell is his smell, my body tangled up with his, I try to give us space to breath. My speech is that just a clingy girl would want to cuddle after orgasms, since everyone secretly wants space to enjoy it by themselves. Like hell I want to! Still, space it's what I give us because I know I can't cuddle.

When the wave goes entirely, we start being ourselves again. Gradually we start speaking and engaging complex conversation like we're used to. We talk about films, music and all the things we love. Often, that lead us to talk about the ones we love. We are apologetic about our behavior and situation. We both have our reasons and we let it out in the open: it is not that we don't love the ones we are with; we just know this need would repress and frustrate us. We want the best for our relationships and blaming them for forbidden us to live this would only destroy everything. So we gave in to our basic and raw need for each other only as if to makes us better persons. It's a bucket full of bullshit but we say it with conviction. I know that I'm in it for something more even if I don't know what yet. While he... Well, he is simply a cheating asshole that has done the same thing a hundred times before while keeping his virginal perfect girlfriend in a shelf. And with horns. A whole bunch of them, poor girl.

I feel pathetic for falling for this. I hate myself for what I'm doing but I just can't stop. I don't know how to. Every time I think about the way he speaks of things I feel like an innocent idiot. Every sentence about respecting personal needs, the sociological explanation for monogamy, separation between sex and love makes me want to leave a little bit of my internal content in the toilet. The only upside of his posture is that it clears my mind towards his girlfriend. Normally, I would think I was harming her by being with the love of her life. With him, I know that I'm sort of doing her a favor. Maybe one day she'll find out how poor is his love for her and find real love somewhere else.

As we always do, we go take a shower afterwards. Cold showers are incredibly appealing when living in a hot city like ours especially in the beginning of the summer. I wish it could be more appealing than him so we could do it first, but it's not. So we shower ourselves together when our bodies can't respond to us anymore. When my legs can't stand to be angled apart.

It bothers me how intimate this moment is. We are fully naked and not consuming each other like two mad mans. We are having our random conversations but a little bit lighter since the bathroom is way lighter as well. But we are still there, together. I didn't leave just after he loaded me with him. It somehow shows that my excuse of egotistical reason probably doesn't apply. The way our conversation sometimes makes me want him even more leading us to the bed all over again, shows me that something is clearly unclear. I can't be reasonable while acting like we do. I can't be reasonable when he is, again, talking about the random needs we have in our lives that don't exclude our right to be with someone while loving another. And how he exemplify by telling me of that one time he fell in love with a girl in a course he have once made, how random it was because it all happened in two days: him knowing her, falling in love with her and her falling in love with him. While he tells me this, he tries to show me that not always sex comes with love or love comes with sex and intimacy is something hard to explain. All of it considering that they fell in love out of nowhere and were intimate enough to declare it while choosing not to do anything about - they both loved their ones too much for it. If knowing this makes me jealous then I'm fucked for real. Way more than half an hour before.

I'm drying myself trying to ignore the lump in my throat. Not always love comes with sex neither sex with love. Not knowing where I fit unsettles me. Wanting to know it unsettles me more. I should know where I am: A girl in her twenties trying to live an adventure different than backpacking through South America, which I've done it already. I should be sure that I'm just a girl that had only a boyfriend in her entire life and knows that he will be the only one, and having her curiosity picked of what's out there. It's the twentieth first century after all. But here I am, wanting to know what the girl did to deserve his suddenly attention and love.

He usually speaks as if nothing was important enough to ceremonies. Sometimes he asks if I'm offended by what he is saying for which I respond that I am not, of course. Why's that? Because I know that there's only one thing coming out of today and it's clear that is not a declaration of love from him. More importantly, I know that I would run for the hills if he did just that because I don't want him loving me. I want a way to get out of here unchanged, with a pathetic mission accomplished of making him want me, of being with another guy, of being independent and modern and fucking selfish, but it doesn't matter. I'm not here to marry the guy, especially since I would never trust him enough for it.

He clearly doesn't know me since he can't recognize my plastered fake smile to what he is saying, and how shallow are my answers in the matter. "Oh, well yes, of course people fall in love randomly in their lives all the time! It probably happened to me a couple of times. Look Simone de Beauvoir and Sartre! They probably wrote something about this incredible modern phenomenon." And so on, until he is tired of trying to justify ourselves or me being able to change the subject before getting into a discussion. It all happens in the twenty minutes we spend in the bathroom. Then we are back into the room and to the bed again. I forget all about his past loves and I hope he does too. Again I'm happy in the short time we have together trying not to think about the fact that we're likely running out of it soon.

For the time being, he is mine and I'm his. No justifying is required or reasoning. In that room, I have him just for myself. I don't care that if is only on Tuesdays now. I don't care that we have a schedule. I don't care that he loved someone before. I only care about the way he makes me feel and how I want to make him feel good too.

Until his phone rings.

Until he runs for it nervously.

Until he answer it in front of me, because there's no other place to go. He can't run naked to the motel corridor and he cannot leave it unanswered. The way he fidgets in his own skin while telling his "love" that he is going to a bar with his friends. The way he tells her that he doesn't feel like going anyway and that he'll try to skip it. The way he tells her that he will let her know. The way he tells her that he will call her later. The caring way he tells her goodbye. The way he is apologetic to me about answering it.

But mostly the way he tells me that he is nervous of her going to his place now, and how he feels like going home. The way he says he is sorry for cutting our time short but that we will see each other again next week, that we will talk tomorrow at work.

The way I nod with my head because for a second I don't feel like talking. And when he asks for confirmation if we are ok, the way I act indifferently saying that "of course we are! Maybe we will see each other next week", because I'm suddenly too hurt to make any compromises with him.

The way he doesn't notice I'm hurt.

Then we are getting dressed but I don't feel like hurrying. I take my time collecting my things. He is already with his pants on. He is calling the reception to close everything up to pay. I am still putting on my panties. I'm walking around the room. I go to the bathroom to pee ignoring the glass door. Fuck if he is seeing it. Fuck it.

When I come back to the room to finish dressing, he is with his shirt unbuttoned. I come closer only because he is near my dress. He holds my arm lightly while I'm bending to reach it. He pulls me closer to him, holding me to his chest and kissing the top of my head. I want to run from him. He holds my chin up and kisses me lightly, while saying that he loved seeing me today and that we are certainly meeting next Tuesday. I nod with my head because I can't say no to him. I nod because I'm missing him already and I hate myself for it.

I hate myself even more when his light kisses become fervently again and I don't resist responding to it. I hate myself when I'm on my back once again. I hate that the ceiling have mirrors as well and that I can see his tattooed back and how big he his compared to me. I hate that he have to go and I love that he is ignoring it while getting inside of me like he couldn't resist it, no matter the consequences. I hate to believe in all of it because I know he is only doing it for a quick fuck before coming back to his girl.

But then he is not fucking me at all. He holds himself on his elbows to look me in the eyes in a way he has never done before. He isn't pushing into me forcefully to make it fast. He is going slowly and he is caressing my face. His nose brushing my cheeks. He is giving me pecks all over my face making me childishly ticklish. I start kissing his face too while calling his name in a whisper, everything being too good not to. I repeat it like a prayer, so low I think he can't hear me. Suddenly, he is holding me tighter, his face in the crook of my neck. His screams are low too. His hands never leaving me. It's all very desperate, but never so genuine. When I look to the ceiling, I see the way he is holding into me and I know he have never been so small. And I can feel it and I know no one can fake it. He may not love me but in this moment he didn't want to leave me. In this moment he is mine, probably for the first time. The reverent way he looks at me and how I don't want to look away tells me everything I needed to know.

He is just as lost as I am. Just as afraid and confused. Despite it all, he is just as stuck in this situation as I am. We didn't want to be here in the first place but we are now. And we don't have the remote idea how to get out.

Or even if we really want to.

That's it. I hope you like it.


End file.
